


Janus: Long Before Me

by The_Mouse_of_Anon



Category: DCU, Smallville, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Character with Disabilities, Gen, Implied Future Character Death, Mind Games, bored kryptonian is bored, implied emotional abuse, various characters mentioned without being present
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 02:44:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6734728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Mouse_of_Anon/pseuds/The_Mouse_of_Anon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kon had the potential to do so much good. Kon had to get out-- and he would do what he had to in order to make sure that happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Janus: Long Before Me

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place in an odd reality that's a blend of the animated series Young Justice (with bits of its approach to Kon's origins), Smallville (borrowing Lionel Luthor and having him responsible for the creation of Kon and the other 'clones'), and bits and pieces from the pre-New 52 comics universe (though admittedly only lightly hinted at). Other things to keep in mind with this odd mash-up reality include the fact that Lex isn't evil (just misunderstood) and at this time is completely unaware of the 'cloning' experiments, Match's creation takes place before Kon's (again, just lightly touched on here), and Kon is the 'clone' designated KR 13. That said, enjoy.

The kryptonian/human hybrid gave a sigh. Kon would do so much good, had the _potential_ to do so much good. Not that the scientists would listen. There was a lot of his commentary they wouldn’t listen to, not that he told them _everything_ he was aware of. Too much of a chance to screw things up if he gave too much away. Too much of a possibility that Kon could never get out. An unacceptable risk. Kon _had_ to get out, of that much the hybrid was certain. In the meantime he would allow the scientists to conduct their tests, to indulge their fascination with his capabilities and limitations. Keeping quiet wasn’t really difficult, even if he thought the scientists’ interest in his capabilities had gotten to such a level of redundancy that he felt they may as well have been beating a dead horse.

An amused snort pulled itself from him. ‘Beating a dead horse’— such a demented phrase in a way. Old, archaic, and yet with an odd mix of truth and a twisted sense of humor. He could appreciate that sense of humor. The scientists didn’t know quite what to think with his occasional forays into morbid humor, but it wasn’t as if they really gave him anything to entertain himself with. What point was there in providing a tool, an experiment really, with entertainment? Lionel Luthor certainly didn’t see the point, but the hybrid didn’t really have a high opinion of what Lionel thought anyway. The man, in the most polite of terms, was a twisted and disgustingly abusive hack with a soul festering with rot. Small wonder why there were occasional whispers from the scientists who he overheard, often speaking about how much Lionel’s own son hated him. If anyone hated Lionel and his falsely-honeyed words, they had to be a better person so far as the hybrid was concerned.

He shifted in his seat. This wasn’t the first time he had been pulled into this room with its lightweight aluminum chairs and (metal? plastic? some other material?) table to be questioned. There were a lot of times, much like this one, where he had run his hands over the table-surface while trying to guess what material it was made of. Usually he was interrupted before he could look thoroughly enough to make a reasonable guess. Of course, if the kryptonian/human teen (could he be considered a teen?) wanted to exert himself, he supposed he could have broken the table in order to feel some of the inner material; but that would only serve to incite the scientists to bring out the kryptonite. An entirely unnecessary measure from his perspective, but it wasn’t like the scientists of Cadmus would listen to him anyway. This also wasn’t the first time he’d been left alone in the room. The scientists probably wanted to see what he’d do. He was almost tempted to run for it, but he knew there was a guard on the other side of the door. Pity. Not that he’d get very far in that present moment in time, but sometimes he had the irrational urge to do something to spice things up, throw the scientists off in terms of what they expected him to do, maybe try to get that vein in Lionel’s neck to pop. He at least had some appreciation for the fact that Lionel refrained from ever putting a hand on him when he was enraged. Whatever else might be said of the diseased filth known as Lionel Luthor, at least the hybrid had to admit that he had phenomenal self-control when it came to physically lashing out.

Of course, then there was the fact… Could Lionel have been refraining due to the strength? Possible. As snippy as he’d been, he didn’t doubt that Lionel assumed he would lash out if physically struck. A fair assessment honestly. He’d hated the man since the first moment he met him; it wasn’t exactly a big leap to assume that if Lionel hit him he’d hit right back. Which would be satisfying. Painful due to the kryptonite that would inevitably follow, but satisfying. Pain was something he could endure. Had endured. _Would_ endure. Kon had to get out. He ran a hand through his hair, a slightly nervous tic. Something inherited possibly. Lionel had commented on it once, vague and obscure. For the most part he had ignored the man. His memory-recall was flawless (one of the reasons the scientists were so fascinated) so if he _really_ wanted to examine the information at a later point he could, but he _did_ have something of an unfair advantage on that front…

So… the table. Plastic? No, not quite. There was a slight granular feel to the surface. Wood? Unlikely. Perhaps it was covered with those long strips of laminate stickers, like the type that was used as wallpaper to give the impression of wood-walls or pottery-tiles? Possible. That would explain the vaguely wood-like granular feel at least, paper being part of such a sticker/wall-paper after all. It would also explain the slick, plasticized feel of the surface. He wondered how long until they sent someone in. Sometimes they wanted to ask him random questions about what he thought of his capabilities, maybe to even challenge what they knew he could do. Again, beating a dead horse. Was it really his fault that he had so much contempt for them when they kept doing the same things over and over? Being stuck in this room alone was getting tiresome. True, it wasn’t really hard for him to figure out if one of the scientists or Lionel were about to come in, but he found leaving some things as a surprise helped keep the boredom at bay. Sometimes he made guessing which one he heard at the door, without using any of his capabilities, something of a game. Not a very good game of course, but he had to get his entertainment any way he could. Certainly better than some of the kryptonite-provoking ways of course. Getting himself killed wasn’t a thought that particularly appealed.

The room wasn’t really all that big. If he had wanted to give the scientists something to watch through their cameras he could always get up and pace around. If he wanted to really trigger panic attacks he could go lurk by the door and just creepily keep his eyes fixed on one point while just slightly swaying. That would definitely incite panic. There would be concern that he was having a seizure of some sort. Or they would be creeped out and convinced that he had finally snapped and would kill whoever walked into the room next. Sometimes he got a lot of entertainment out of creeping out the scientists. Part of it was only deliberately creeping them out on very rare occasions, otherwise they might realize what he was up to. Not that that would have much impact, but he preferred if they took him somewhat seriously for the time being. He stayed put. He waited. Finally he was just too bored.

“Are any of you actually going to come in here and ask me what you want to ask, or are you just going to continue to watch through the cameras as I do nothing in a mostly-empty room?” he said aloud, knowing that the microphones would pick it up. Certainly the guard had to have heard. The room wasn’t soundproof. For a while there was no answer. Not too surprising really. Granted, he didn’t really have anything pressing to do (aside from getting lost in his own mind in order to stave off boredom), but that didn’t mean that he liked having to wait on them to just get what they wanted done and over with. Then the doorknob turned. He turned his head the direction of the door. Which one was…? “Dr. Bruckheimer,” he greeted in a cool tone.

The scientist had a faint hitch in his breath at that, startled. For the life of him the hybrid couldn’t figure out why they had a hard time accepting the fact that he could recognize them. “We’ve been observing you,” the scientist said as he cautiously crossed from the door to the chair on the other side of the table.

“I’m quite well aware of that,” he answered.

Dr. Bruckheimer nervously cleared his throat. “We wanted to know if there was anything you do-”

“You mean you wanted to know if there’s a ‘tell’ for when I’m using my capabilities?” The doctor didn’t answer. “I thought so.”

“You’re still in the assessment phase!” Dr. Bruckheimer sputtered out, clearly flustered by how calm and… _in control_ the hybrid came off as. By all rights there shouldn’t be any indication that he felt in control of anything, and yet he most certainly did. Making the scientists flustered to the point of squawking was another entertaining pastime of his. He had to get his kicks somehow.

“I know this. Everyone knows this. I’m ‘in the assessment phase.’ You’ll forgive me if I feel this ‘assessment phase’ is dragging on rather long. I was under the impression that the ‘assessments’ of all those prior to me were comparatively quick. Wasn’t there one that lasted only three weeks?” he asked innocently in a tone that (more than once) had been privately referred to by the scientists as his being in “Lex mode.” It creeped them out every time he sounded so much like someone he had never met face-to-face, which gave him all the more reason to do it.

Dr. Bruckheimer’s voice went quiet as he cautiously asked, “How do you know about that?”

The hybrid leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he laced his fingers together and lightly rested his chin on his hands. Giving a smirk that he knew would be read as ‘Lex mode,’ he stated, “I have ears don’t I? What use is super-hearing if I don’t use it when I have no real means to keep myself entertained?” Of course that wasn’t the whole truth, but Dr. Bruckheimer didn’t need to know that.

Dr. Bruckheimer might have frowned. He didn’t care really. “You aren’t… You’re not… Don’t you have any understanding that you’re not in control here?!”

“Don’t you and the others have any understanding that I don’t particularly care, and in that sense I have every last ounce of control I could possibly need?” he returned casually.

“You just-” Dr. Bruckheimer sputtered for a moment or two before forcing himself to regain control. “Look… We need to know. We need to know if your capabilities are what we think they are.”

“Or?” the hybrid asked, unimpressed, “What? You and the others will ‘terminate’ me? You’ll forgive me if that doesn’t seem like much of a threat considering that that is clearly what happened to those who came before me.”

“Don’t you care that if you _don’t_ work with us then you’ll be _terminated_?” Dr. Bruckheimer finally squawked in disbelief, far too disturbed by the hybrid to restrain himself any further. “Don’t you care that you’ll be deemed a failure, terminated, and most likely _dissected_ if you don’t cooperate?” Apparently the scientist didn’t care anymore that he was giving the hybrid information he wasn’t supposed to. Hilarious. Amazing what causing a world-class freak-out could accomplish.

He was silent, an aloof expression on his face as if he was contemplating a mildly confusing but engaging riddle for a minute or two. Finally he deliberately locked eyes with the scientist; he knew it would creep the man out and he had decided now was the moment to show-case a maximum creep-out factor. “No.”

“No? _No?!_ ” The man was clearly distressed.

“Do you want to know why?” he asked, his head tilting to the side curiously.

“KR 10, _stop it_ ,” Dr. Bruckheimer demanded with an edge of panic as he shoved himself away from the table. Clearly the hybrid had gotten under his skin more than he’d expected. Good. Still… that damned designation though…

Milky pale-blue blind eyes remained fixed on the face they couldn’t see. The hybrid, in full-blown ‘Lex mode,’ coldly stated, “That’s not my name.”

“KR 10,” Dr. Bruckheimer said warningly, both trying to hold his ground and back away to the door.

“My name is Kaizhidime, for the record,” he calmly said, deliberately using the Kryptonian pronunciation of _Kaiz-hihd-ihm-ey_. Not that they’d know or appreciate the ingenuity of it without his providing an explanation. “A Kryptonian god. You might consider the concept rather similar to that of the Ancient Roman god Janus; the one who looks into both past and future and is the god of beginnings and endings. Well, among various other things, but those were the most apt for my own circumstances.” There was a bit of an echo of Lex’s fascination with all things Ancient Greek to the hybrid’s tone.

Dr. Bruckheimer had backed against the doorway, and the whole way Kaizhidime had kept his blind blue eyes locked on the man. “This is not happening,” the scientist said in a panicked whisper before protesting more loudly, “You can’t even _see!_ ”

Kaizhidime gave a wicked smile that Lex Luthor would be proud of. “Not in the present, no. But in the past or the future? My vision is better than 20/20. Should I tell you where you left your keycard this morning? Or what happened to your car last week? Or would you think it more considerate if I let you know about what’s going to happen tomorrow? It’s quite a set-back too. Not as much of a set-back as one of the next ones will be though. When he gets loose in the lab that’s going to be a _really_ nasty bloodbath. I hope by then Cadmus labs is stocked up on hydrogen peroxide— I hear that’s the quickest way to get rid of blood on anything.”

“Why are you doing this?” Dr. Bruckheimer whispered, trembling in place.

“Two reasons,” he smirked, “One, you wanted to know what my capabilities are. Have I given you everything? Hardly. Nor do I intend to. Two, just to prove my point that I have every bit of control I could possibly need. So, I ask again, do you want to know _why_ I don’t care about being labelled a ‘failure’ and ‘retired’?”

Dr. Bruckheimer gave a shaky breath, fully feeling like he was caught up in a Luthor-family-mind-game. “Why?”

“Because one of those that follows me is going to do this world a lot of good. K and T both will, even before they meet really, but they’ll do a lot more good together after they meet. K will certainly do more good for this world than a blind, disabled kryptonian with a weak heart who will keel over from too much exertion could do at any rate. And he can do a great deal of good for a _loooong_ time to come. Not like me on that count really. While my ‘sight’ is a good thing in its way, I can’t do the sort of good he can.”

“W-what?” Dr. Bruckheimer squeaked. It was a rather comical sound to hear coming from the big black man. The idea of that ridiculous of a sound coming from a brilliant-and-usually-imposing man was just downright hilarious.

“Simply put, Dr. Bruckheimer, I don’t care about self-preservation because I’m looking out for my brother. He may not exist yet, but if I have anything to say about it he will. And if that means giving up my life, so be it.” It was at that point that the scientist turned the knob and bolted out the door as quickly as possible, sparking a snickering fit for the hybrid.

After taking a few moments to collect himself, Kaizhidime allowed his sight to slide into the future, to follow that tenuous thread of Kon and the video currently being recorded by the cameras focused on him, along the most solid threads of possibility, and found where they intersected. A smile tugged at his lips. Turning to aim his eyes at the camera in the corner he said, “T and K, I know you’ll find this recording eventually. You’re good company for each other, or at least you _will be_ from my current point. Don’t let anyone screw it up. Do me one favor? Make life hell for Lionel when you can. Father’s not too bad, even if he can be a little overzealous and _a lot_ of a nerd at times. I could say that about Dad too really, but I think they have issues with being compared to each other. And before either of you even consider being guilty about whatever happens to me— don’t. I made my choice so that K would live, and that’s a decision I could never regret.”


End file.
